Through the Crimson Dawning
by Glorious Clio
Summary: Rating: T Summery: Husbanding England saw a nice ending for most of the gang. But what of Little John, who lived, literally, to fight another day?


Title: Through the Crimson Dawning

Author: Glorious Clio

Rating: T

Summery: Husbanding England saw a nice ending for most of the gang. But what of Little John, who lived, literally, to fight another day?

AN/Disclaimer: I own nothing, except my own "Husbanding England" ramblings. But the characters of course, belong to the BBC. Although they don't appreciate them. The title comes from Alfred Noyes, 116 "Sherwood." Look how clever I am.

Beta-ed by the charming and lovely Matriaya.

o0O0o

John Little once again found himself aboard the _Nymue_, standing at the stern, watching the white cliffs of Dover slip silently away into the misty horizon. It surprised him how little it hurt him to leave England behind. It stung slightly, of course. It was mostly regret at leaving little Little John behind. But, he mused, it was probably for the best. The boy, his own _son_, did not know him. Alice had remarried. Robin and his gang were settling in to begin their lives, while his was dwindling down. Though no blame fell to his friends, there simply was no place for him there.

He gently fingered two carefully sealed missives, one from Robin, one from Lady Marian. He had not read them, indeed he could not read, but in truth he did not have to. He knew what they said. They listed the crimes of the Sheriff Vaisey. Little John did not need to write them down to remember. For all practical purposes, he had lost his life because of that villain.

He charily tucked the letters back in his cloak, intending to give them to the King when they reached France. He then pulled the folds around him tighter, to ward off the cold wind that had picked up. He hoped the winds were favorable and would push them ashore in Bordeaux faster, before the monsters that lived in the sea could rise up and take their vessel down to the depths.

Little John had lived on the fringes of society for so long, that he did not think he could stop fighting. He was too old to start a new life, and though he was aging quickly, he offered his services to the King, who thankfully had accepted.

He only hoped that King Richard's blasted mother would stop making advances. Queen or no queen, frankly she scared him. He was much too old for that sort of thing. Most mornings it was a fight to get out of bed but the thought of staying in it, with company, worried him even more. Hopefully living with a roof over his head and a good mattress beneath him would make him stronger, not weaker… time would tell…. Of course, an _uninterrupted_ night's sleep would go a long way.

o0O0o

Monday, 7 of January, the Year of our Lord, 1196.

The day had dawned cold, though it was not that surprising, given the month. Little John was up early, with the King, Richard the Lionheart, the dowager, Eleanor of Aquitaine, and their vast court.

Vaisey, the villain of Nottingham, was to hang.

It had been a long road to this day. King Richard had spent a great deal of time gathering evidence, almost delighting in the task. It was clear he enjoyed it more than actually governing his lands, though Little John, knowing precious little about nobility and power, said nothing and merely did as he was asked.

Noblemen from all over Nottingham had written letters in evidence against the Sheriff. The most valuable two were from Earl Robin of Nottingham and his Lady, Marian of Knighton. There were no letters vouching for him; everyone he considered to be a friend, or at least an ally, was trying to disappear into the shadows again. Not one would step up and speak on his behalf.

The sheriff, to his credit, did not give the names of his fellow conspirators. But the King did not seem upset over this; in fact, it made him respect the prisoner all the more.

Try as he might, Little John could not respect his old enemy. Perhaps he was too small a man. Vaisey and his infernal taxes had destroyed him. Little John did not have options, only to become an outlaw. It had cost him everything. John had been, for all intensive purposes, dead.

Vaisey did not cooperate fully with the executioner, but he did not protest too much. He did, however, refuse a hood.

Little John looked on without any pity as the hangman kicked out the stool from under him. The entire court watched as the old treasonous sheriff slowly strangled to death. When he finally stopped twitching, the hooded executioner cut him down and loaded the body onto a waiting cart. The vain man who had loved attention, pomp and ceremony in his castle was buried in an unmarked grave outside Bordeaux.

Amen.

o0O0o


End file.
